


Recovery

by A_Random_NPC



Series: Love and Honor [3]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Death, Minor Character Death, Minor Injuries, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Serious Injuries, Violence, War of the Thorns | Burning of Teldrassil, World of Warcraft: Battle for Azeroth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:08:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23017528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Random_NPC/pseuds/A_Random_NPC
Summary: A look at the events surrounding Tannette Warden's recovery after the War of Thorns.
Series: Love and Honor [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2168667
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	Recovery

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING:  
> This story contains scenes of violence, PTSD reactions, death, blood, gore, and injuries. Read at your own risk.
> 
> The events of this take place before Tannette reaches Boralus. Apologies for posting it out of order.
> 
> Location and story inspired by the refugee camp near the Stormwind Embassy.

TRIGGER WARNING:  
This story contains scenes of violence, PTSD reactions, death, blood, gore, and injuries. Read at your own risk.

\-------------------------------------------------

Tannette felt the flaming fel blades slice into her skin and screamed. The demon hunter, her face hidden under a bloodied metal mask, gave her a feral grin and slammed into her, making her collapse on legs that no longer worked. Tannette howled with fury, her teeth bared in defiance as the blood elf bore down on her, casually slicing her with the twin flaming swords she carried. Blood seeped into Tannette’s pelt, dying her grey fur crimson. The demon hunter was toying with her, and they both knew it.

She had been caught unawares scouting the forward line, seeking intel on the Horde’s advance through Darkshore. Arminius had given a startled squawk as the demon hunter had dropped, seemingly out of nowhere, to attack. Her partner, a druid healer, had been the first to die, choking on his own blood. No amount of the power of his goddess could save him. Arminius had done his best to harry the blood elf, but to no avail. She had quickly broken one of his wings and slammed him into a tree, knocking him out of the fight, before going after Tannette herself.

Tannette palmed a dagger from her boot and raised it weakly as her foe darted in to take another slice off of her. She managed to deflect one blade, the flames burning the fur off the back of her hand, but the second sliced deeply into her side. She roared weakly, collapsing back onto the sandy shore, urging Arminus to flee in her mind, to flee back to Teldrassil where he would be safe. A sob choked her; who would care for her best boy when she was gone?

The woman stood above her, no longer paying her any mind. The sword that had been poised to finish the kill stilled as another sound filled the clearing. The demon hunter darted away, hissing in Eredar at someone who had entered the battle. Tannette’s vision began to fade as another voice rose in a battle cry, challenging her tormentor. She felt hands busily touching her wounded body and raised a hand to feebly bat them away. The act was too much for her, sending her into darkness. 

She woke again to screams of panic and agony. She opened her eyes to see Syralynn kneeling over her, the other woman’s long, curly blonde hair falling in disarray around her face. She smiled down at her friend, her hands glowing with golden light that seemed to fill the air with embers and sparks. Tannette blinked, and sniffed. She was in Teldrassil, in the Temple, that much she could tell. But why did the temple smell like smoke?

“That’s the best I can do for you, Tannette,” Syra’s voice was hoarse, as if she had not spoken in days. “Let’s get you to the portals.”

“Syra, what-” Her friend lifted her, draping her arm over Arminius’s withers. Tannette sobbed freely, stroking her hippogryph’s feathers as he turned back to preen her hair a moment. One of his wings hung crookedly from his body, confirming her earlier fears of a break. Syra guided the pair of them steadily through chaos, her presence calming those around her. Everything felt surreal, as if in a dream. Tannette watched dully as flaming branches began crashing down around them. She watched as people poured in, wreathed in smoke and flame. Syralynn continued to guide them to the portal, occasionally lifting a small child onto Arminius’s back to keep safe. The children shrieked and cried, reaching for parents that weren’t there. Tannette hobbled on, feeling healing spells wrapped around her lower legs, giving her the support she needed. Ahead, a portal glowed with a pale blue light, opening onto Stormwind. Syra gave her a gentle shove, smiling at her serenely as Arminius stumbled through the portal bearing his precious burden.

“Go, Tannette. They need you.” Syra said, lifting her hand to reaffix her falling curls back into a sloppy bun. “I am needed here.”

“Syra-” 

“Go,” The small woman gave her a shove, her tone full of laughter, although her eyes were full of weariness and despair. “We will meet again someday, dear heart. I love you, and always will. Please try to forgive me for what happened, and give my regards to the rest of the pack.” Tannette stumbled through the portal with the small shove, watching in horror as time seemed to slow as a massive branch began falling over head. It struck the fountain in the middle of the temple, sending the once graceful basin careening downwards. Tannette reached out in vain as hands grabbed her and pulled her into the clean air of Stormwind just as the healing spells that had held her upright failed.

“Syra!” Tannette screamed as she collapsed, her voice failing her as healers rushed to her side, her whole body aching with despair. She sobbed as she was dragged away, Arminius screeching and fighting his way to her side. The children were hastily grabbed from his back as he limped towards her, his broken wing tucked at his side. Tannette heaved, her stomach roiling from the emotional and physical pain, vomiting weakly on the cobblestones next to her. A hand brimming with Light touched her forehead, and she soon knew no more.

\----------

Tannette thrashed awake in worgen form, falling from the cot that had been her bed for several weeks with a thump. She clawed at her blankets, throwing them off of her in a frenzy to get free and gasped for air. Her tent in the makeshift field hospital smelled of smoke, making her panic and reach for the full pitcher next to her and start dousing her blankets with water, grabbing the second pitcher she insisted on having on hand and tossing it on them for good measure. When the fabric and a good bit of her fur were sopping wet, she wrapped it around her, ready to run from the fire she was certain would engulf her at any second. Her stomach heaved at the thought of having to face the flames again, and her barely healed legs trembled unsteadily under her. There was no way she could run, not with her legs in such a state. Panicking, she collapsed into the center of the tent, making a dome of wet fabric over her, hoping it would be enough to protect her as the fires raged. Flashes of sparks flickered at the edge of her vision, making her wheeze. She desperately prayed to Elune, to the Light, anyone who would listen that she would have enough air, but knew it was hopeless. She bit back a rough sob; she wouldn’t survive a fire again!

“Tannette,” a soft voice broke through her panic coupled with a touch of a gentle hand through the fabric near her shoulder. “Tannette, it’s alright. You’re safe, and there is no fire. Tannette, everything is alright, you’re safe.” The panic that gripped her heart and mind eased slightly as the Light banished the shadows from her mind. She sobbed with relief when the healer lifted the blanket from her head and touched a faintly glowing hand to her brow. “There is no fire, Tannette, you’re safe. Let me help you.”

“But I’ll die!” Tannette’s voice broke before the final bit of fear left her, banished by the man she recognized as the mind healer. He cupped her muzzle in his hand and smiled into her eyes, smoothing her hair from her forehead. A draenei woman peeked into the tent, her hands whirling as she directed a small burst of air into the enclosure, banishing the scent of smoke from the canvas.

“Not with me here, you won’t. You’re safe, and I won’t leave you. The wind shifted, and sent the smoke from the cooking fires your way. There is nothing to worry about, nothing to fear.” He waited as she slowly extracted herself from the wet blankets and picked herself up off the floor. The draenei gave her a small sad smile and closed the tent flap, granting them privacy. The healer made no move to touch her again as she swayed on her feet and collected herself. Tannette hesitated, but extended the blanket to him, relieved that the scent of smoke had been driven from her tent. He took it and folded it neatly, not mentioning the water that dripped down his robes and soaked into the rug under their feet. She shook with embarrassment and leftover nerves at the sight of the mess she had created, and slowly sank to the edge of the cot. He watched her and smiled, setting the blanket next to her where she could touch it, reassuring herself her protective cover would be ready in an instant if there was a fire.

“Let me look at your legs, and make sure you didn’t damage them.” His voice was a soothing singsong. She nodded and extended them, wincing at the sight of her paws. She didn’t have enough control over her emotions to drop her worgen form, and they both knew it. He, fortunately, was familiar with worgen anatomy, being one himself. She sighed as warmth from his power cut through the aching muscles and eased the strain she felt there.

“Cut it close, but you’re out of danger,” he reassured her, his eyes slightly unfocused as he laid another healing spell on her damaged legs. “Fortunately, the damage was corrected properly the first time.”

“Syra knew her business,” Tannette said hoarsely, one clawed hand knotted in the soggy blanket. “She healed me enough in the past that she could do it in her sleep.”

“Indeed,” he said mildly. They both knew she refused to talk about what happened more so than perhaps any of his other patients recovering from their injuries. “She was a good friend, and an excellent healer.”

“Mmm,” was her non-committed reply. He flexed one of her paws, feeling the tendons move under his hand and laying another small spell to ease the slight damage he felt there. She sighed with relief when he nodded with satisfaction and stood, picking up the two empty pitchers from where they lay on the tent floor. 

“I’ll refill these, and bring them back,” his voice was kind, his face full of empathy. “It is nearly dawn, and I’m afraid your bedding is too soaked to do much good if you wished to get back to sleep. Might I suggest using the cleaning facilities before the morning rush? You can get washed up, and then be first in line for breakfast.” His face was wreathed in a brilliant smile. “I believe the cooks have decided to make us those spicy hash browns you so thoroughly enjoyed last week.”

“That may be wise,” she replied, looking down. She had unconsciously dragged the folded blanket onto her lap and twisted both hands into it. She dropped it with a sigh and covered her face in her hands, rubbing away the tears that formed there. A rustling sound warned her that the healer had knelt before her as he slowly drew her hands away from her face and handed her a handkerchief.

“Miss Warden, you need to allow yourself time to process your grief and the trauma you experienced. Repressing it is going to cause trouble down the road.” His words were said gently, but she could feel the steel behind them. She refused to meet his eyes as he continued. “Speaking about it will help, I promise.”

“Will it help those who died? Will it help those who burned?” Bitterness dripped from her voice as she felt her claws puncture through the soggy blanket. “Will it bring justice to the fallen, and put the Banshee Bitch’s head on a platter?”

“No,” he replied, shaking his head. “But it will allow you to heal, and sometimes that is enough.” She snorted and rolled her eyes, making him sigh. “You are just as stubborn as your brothers warned me you would be.”

“You heard from Alexi and Ryland?” She asked sharply, looking at him. He nodded, still kneeling before her. 

“Yes, but they told me to tell you that they have been delayed bringing your little brother home, as the road makers pointed them in the wrong direction.” He raised his eyebrows at her and said, dryly. “Clearly, there is more meaning than a simple mix up on the road.” She huffed a small laugh, but didn’t say anything. Alexi and Ryland had just told her that the king had sent them on an errand and that they were unsure of when they would be back. The healer stood, pointing towards the chest at the end of the cot. “Wash, get dressed, and come to breakfast, Miss Warden. We’ll talk later once you’ve had a chance to properly wake up.”

“Yes, sir,” she said dully, forcing herself to stand. He left the tent without a backwards glance, the two metal pitchers dully clanking where they hung in his hand. She sniffed, dabbing her eyes with the handkerchief, and dropped the blanket in a heap on her bed. Closing her eyes, she focused once more on trying to shift from her worgen form, reaching for the balance and stillness she had been trained to bring her feral side under control. As she expected, it slipped from her grasp, eluding her as her heart clenched with negative emotions. She blinked back tears and gathered her things to do exactly as the healer ordered, just like every other day since she had been pulled through the portal to Stormwind.

The camp was mostly quiet when she left her tent with a small basket of clothes, soap, and a towel over her arm. The draenei shaman who had banished the smoke was still waiting outside, bowing to her politely as she exited. 

“I will ensure your tent is ready for you once you return.” Her voice was heavily accented and kind. “I apologize for the trouble. The elementals grew bored of their tasks and decided to cause mischief. The firewood was not as dry as it should have been, and caused smoke it seems.” She shrugged, looking uncomfortable.

“It’s alright,” Tannette said, trying to put a brave face on it. She noticed healers working in several other tents filled with patients she knew were some of the last that had escaped Teldrassil before the portals had collapsed. Clearly, she was not the only one affected by the wayward smoke. A priestess held onto a night elf who sobbed into her shoulder, his torso covered in bandages and burn cream. The night elven woman murmured in their native tongue in his ear as she slowly filled him with light and peace. His sobs began to subside allowing her to check his bandages to ensure he had not damaged any of the healing flesh beneath them. Tannette turned away, swallowing hard as she faced the draenei once again.

“Looks like I wasn’t the only one, huh? One would think that the shaman would be more mindful of their tasks to prevent such a catastrophe.” She felt her jaw drop in a lupine snarl as the draenei winced and nodded. The encampment in Elwynn had begun to move away from being a field hospital and more towards a refugee camp in the days after the War of the Thorns. She knew as soon as she was discharged back into duty that her temporary home would be given over to a waiting refugee family, and felt a wave of guilt. The draenei watched her face and looked as if she wanted to say something, but shrugged and moved into the tent instead.

Tannette shrugged herself and limped along, her paws sounding absurdly loud in the grass and dirt. Her healing injuries made it impossible for her to move silently, a detriment to someone in her line of work. She had spent the past several years as a scout for both Trueshot Lodge and the Alliance, and the thought of a debilitating injury taking her out of her chosen field made her quake in fear. How could she start all over again, just as her career was finally taking off? Certainly there were positions she could hold if she were indeed too injured to work as a scout again. Her mind toyed briefly with the thought of becoming a stable hand like Beckland, the man who had helped her raise Arminius after finding him in Azsuna, but shook her head.

The Horde couldn’t destroy a home she didn’t have, she thought savagely. I won’t allow them to destroy another one, not while there’s a single breath left in my body.

Dawn was typically her favorite time of day, but this morning she flinched away from the sounds of birds greeting the newly rising sun and the quiet murmur of voices throughout the camp. She miserably washed and dried herself in the makeshift bathhouses, shivering as the cool morning air struck her through her wet pelt. As soon as she dressed, she made her way back to her tent, relieved to see it completely dry, with the two pitches of water refilled and settled neatly on the small crate she used as a nightstand next to the cot inside.

Scowling, she touched the slightly damp pitcher, her claw clicking against the metal. She hadn’t felt safe unless she had at least two sources of water within easy reach since coming out of the healer induced coma they had put her in while she recovered from the worst of her wounds. From what she had overheard throughout the camp, she was not the only one suffering from what the healers were calling shell shock. Smoke was the most common trigger for the last of those that had been saved from Teldrassil and Darkshore. The healers had done their best to order those running to camp to only use the driest of firewood, and to have at least one shaman on hand to control the smoke so that it dispersed before affecting those recovering, but it was only a temporary, imperfect cure. Rubbing her damp fingertips together, she decided it was time to think hard about her situation.

Leaving the confines of her tent was an act of will, but her growling stomach left her very little choice. Making her way towards the cooking fires made her shake, but she firmly told herself to grow up and collected her food from the jolly Pandaren who ran the camp’s kitchen. Not trusting her voice, she nodded curtly and took herself to the table that was the furthest from fires, methodically eating as quickly as possible so she could get away from the light scent of smoke in the air. Halfway through her meal, a shadow fell across her plate, making her look up into the face of a Lightforged priest she recognized instantly.

“Promulous,” she said, resigned, as he joined her across the table. The Lightforged grinned, moving half of his portion of spicy hash browns from his plate to hers with a conspiratorial wink. 

“I heard you had a rough start to your morning.” His voice was one of the most rich baritones she had ever heard, and never failed to make her blush. He delicately arranged the rest of his food on his plate with a fork and knife that were dwarfed by his large hands, and began eating, gesturing for her to do the same.

“Nightmares.” She said briefly, toying with the potatoes and peppers he had dumped on her plate. He cut a piece of ham into quarters, then eighths, humming with pleasure as he chewed. His expression made her laugh. “You have to be one of the most appreciative individuals of the Pandaren’s cooking that I have ever seen.”

“One should always take time to appreciate the good things in life, Tannette,” he chided her softly, looking pointedly at her own uncleared plate. Taking the hint, she began eating her own meal, matching the pace he set out of politeness. He smiled and gestured to a wandering dwarf, who poured them both glasses of milk and dropped a basket of biscuits next to them with a bow. Tannette scowled at the milk, but he merely smiled and took a sip of his own.

“Promulous, you know I detest milk,” Tannette hated the whine in her voice. “It is disgusting.”

“Ah, but from what my companions among the healers have told me you are not eating or drinking enough for your body to repair itself properly. Milk will help strengthen the bones that were damaged, and will prevent the lining of your stomach from being eroded by the potions they make you drink throughout the day.” He paused in his eating long enough to give her a significant look before tearing a biscuit in half and placing it on her plate. “You and I scouted together on Argus, Tannette. I have seen you fighting fit and healthy. You are far from that, and have been neglecting yourself.”

She guiltily sipped her milk, wincing at the taste. At least it was cow’s milk, she thought resentfully, and not the dreadful goat milk that was sometimes served. Promulous watched to ensure she drank the entire glass before allowing one of the servers to place a mug of tea before her, watching her benevolently. The gunpowder black tea tasted faintly of citrus, washing away the aftertaste of the milk. She silently continued eating her breakfast as Promulous did the same. When she cleared her plate and began to rise in order to leave, he laid two fingers on her wrist, making her pause.

“We are long overdue for a talk, my friend.” His tone told her he would allow no arguments. “You will allow me to finish my breakfast, keep me company while I do so, and have another mug of this most excellent tea while you wait. And then you and I will be going for a walk through the forest.”

“The healers will be expecting me-” She began, but was stopped when he applied slight pressure to her wrist. She sat back on the bench, an involuntary growl rumbling from her throat. He gave her a mildly disapproving look but continued eating. The dwarven server cleared away the empty plates in front of her and set down another mug of tea at her elbow. She sipped it resentfully, watching him slowly tuck away twice as much food as she had, his face wreathed in happiness as he did so. Sighing, she grabbed a pair of biscuits from the basket in front of her and tucked them into her pockets.

“You will eat those later and not try to feed them to that hippogryph of yours.” Promulous said mildly as he stood to help the dwarven server clear away his plates. He paused to bow in the direction of the camp cooks, who returned the salute with cheerful waves. 

Tannette snorted and rolled her eyes, but followed the priest as he seemed to glide across the camp towards the forest. He paused at the alchemist’s tent and grabbed a potion she recognized as one of the healing potions she had been forced to drink day in and day out to strengthen her muscles and bones. She glared at him, but drank it wincing a bit at the sickly sweet taste. The alchemist hid a grin and marked down that she had received her morning dose, and said,

“Ye be the only one who dislikes th’ taste of me potions, dearie.”

“If you didn’t make them so damn sweet, mayhaps I’d like them better.” He chuckled and tossed the empty vial into a bucket filled with others that waited to be cleaned. Promulous tapped her on the shoulder and directed her towards the forest, making her sigh again. They walked in silence, her paws making much more noise through the grass than his hooves, a fact that irked her to no end. She had appreciated the man’s silence while they scounted through Mac’Aree together, but now it seemed like an insult. He directed her towards a rocky outcropping that showed signs of use, a place she recognized as a popular picnicking spot for Stormwind citizens.

“Had I known we were coming here, I would have brought more than a pair of biscuits,” she joked as he steered her towards two rocks with relatively flat surfaces. She popped up onto one, watching him settle across from her with a sigh. He looked good for a man who had lived for thousands of years, she thought. His age was somewhat of a mystery, one she chose not to delve too deeply into. The thought of him being older than the Sundering was an unsettling one. He made himself comfortable and smiled from where he sat across from her.

“Now, Tannette. We shall talk.” She scowled, fiddling with one of the long braids that flanked her face. The leather throng needed redoing, she thought, busily undoing it and rebraiding it. He waited patiently and watched her as she completed the task, avoiding his gaze.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Promulous.” She said, fiddling with the second braid. “I’m fine.”

“Your outburst this morning says otherwise, my friend.” There was no judgement in his voice, though it made her quale inside anyway. “That was not a healthy reaction to a bit of woodsmoke.”

“A bit?” She dropped her braid, glaring at him. “My whole tent smelled like smoke! How could anyone deal with that?”

“The rest of the camp dealt with it like people normally do - which is to say, by being mildly inconvenienced, not by ducking and covering expecting to die.” She scowled, finishing off the braid and tossing it over her shoulder. He stroked his blindingly white beard, watching her face. “Tannette, your reaction was extreme, even for someone in your condition. You cannot continue this way, not if you are to continue serving king and country.”

“You cannot force me to talk about it, you old goat,” she felt her temper rising along with embarrassment. How dare he judge her? She had lost not one, but two homes to the Horde! “I refuse to discuss what happened. You cannot make me.”

“No,” came the mild, yet reproachful, reply, “I cannot. All I can do is encourage my friend to allow me to help shoulder the burden she has been carrying far too long.” She growled and kicked her heels against the rock, wishing she could pace. Instead, she pulled at the edge of her tunic, needing to do something with her hands. Promulous watched her a moment, and rose, pulling something from a small belt purse on his hip.

“There are many useful tools for those who have experienced trauma,” his voice was soft, encouraging. She hated it, and watched his hands. He pulled them apart, revealing a small shard of stone that seemed to shift from golden yellows to azure blues and back again. He offered it to her solemnly. “A worry stone is one such tool, though you will find that this one is more potent than any other you will find.” He gently grabbed her hand and tipped the stone into her palm, watching her reaction.

Tannette sucked in a breath as the material hit her hand. Her exhausted body was filled with energy, more than she had at her disposal in months. Her mental focus went from being frantic, to calm, cool, and collected. Possibilities for the future began running through her mind. With this sort of power, she could rain vengeance upon her enemies, destroy entire cities the way Sylvanas had destroyed hers. And yet… It felt wrong somehow. She frowned, studying the shard. There was potential for healing here, more so than destruction. She was certain, if she only thought about it and had access to the right tools, that she could purge the blight from her homeland and maybe even help regrow the World Tree.

Promulous, watching her face, deftly plucked the crystal from her hand, and returned it to his belt purse. She blinked, no longer enthralled by the shard, and blearily looked up at him.

“Promulous, what was that?” She asked, feeling her thoughts slow and still. The energy that had filled her body ebbed away, leaving her feeling more drained than she had before she handled the crystal. She slowly scrubbed her palm against the rough leather of her breeches to hide her shaking hands.

“Azerite. The lifeblood of Azeroth. The blood of a Titan.” His voice was calm, but shook slightly. “Azerite is why we need you to heal, Tannette.”

“This is what Alexi and Ryland are after, isn’t it?” Promulous nodded, his face grim. “They’re at the Wound, then?”

“No, they are somewhere else. Their mission is one of utmost importance, Azerite only being a fraction of it.” The Lightforged sighed, pushing his hair back from his face. “They are in Kul Tiras, as an advanced party to Lady Proudmoore’s return. They are currently, ah, getting the feel for how the populace would react to a possible alliance with, well, the Alliance.” He grinned sheepishly at her. “As such, the Seventh Legion will need as many hands as possible in order to pave the way towards good relations, so to speak. They need scouts with your skills to seek out threats throughout Kul Tiras and direct either the army or the absolute swarm of adventurers that will follow in order to deal with them in order to build goodwill with the Admiralty.”

“That’s manipulative,” she folded her arms across her chest, glaring at him. “Kul Tiras has kept to itself for years after the Third War. They have no more love of the Alliance than Gilneas did back then. And sending Lady Proudmoore? Are they mad? Its political suicide.”

“Lady Proudmoore is still her mother’s heir, what with Derek Proudmoore dead and Tandrid missing.” He went back to his rock, heaving his large body onto it. “King Wrynn knows what he’s doing. It is not for us to question it.” She snorted and rolled her eyes, making him grin. “Though you will disagree with me on that score.”

“The moment you stop asking questions is the moment your leaders get all sorts of foolish ideas in their heads that put lives at risk,” she snapped, tapping her fingers against her arm. “I do not obey anything mindlessly, Promulous.”

“Ah, and that is why you are a lovely irregular, and not a soldier, my dear,” He said brightly, once again removing the Azerite from his belt purse. He strung it on a thin metal chain, his large hands making deft work of the job. “And irregulars are what the Seventh Legion needs, which is why we need to get your emotions under control. Which requires you to trust me enough to talk about what happened.” He held up the pendant, and pointed to it. “I cannot, in good conscience, send you back into the field in the state of mind that sends you into a panic at the scent of wood smoke. Judging by your reaction to this, you are not beyond redemption.” For the first time, he scowled at her, startling her. “You are aware my powers extend to those of the mind. We need you, Tannette, and though I am loathe to do it, I will mind control you if necessary to get the answers I seek in order to set you on the path to healing.”

She swallowed hard, looking at her hands. The Lightforged had only mind controlled a creature once in her presence, when an eredar sorceress was less than cooperative giving them the answers they sought. Tannette knew his threat was a serious one, and that for him to voice it meant that he was at the end of his patience with her. She had stubbornly held out for too long, it seems. 

“The other healers think that you will come around eventually and tell us all, but Tannette, the situation is dire. The Alliance is at a breaking point, and every day the Horde is advancing. We need you out of Stormwind, and in Kul Tiras. What I am doing is not how I would do things normally. But, your world is dying and we need people like you out there seeking solutions to cure her.” He tossed the pendant to her, startling her. Her hands fumbled the catch, but the crystal was undamaged where it hit the rock. He gestured to it, and said, “Look into its depths, and tell me what happened to you on Darkshore, Tannette.”

“It begins before Darkshore, Promulous,” she said softly, tracing the edge of the crystal. “Well before Darkshore. This will take some time.”

“Time we have plenty for this, Tannette.” His voice was also soft. She felt the warmth of the Light wrapping around her, supporting her. “Focus on the crystal, and tell me what happened.” She nodded, staring at it, and began to speak.


End file.
